Dogs of War (Fantasy Writing)

  • I’ve always been addicted to stories, good ones especially. I’ve read most of the well known fantasy book out there and I’ve loved every word of every page. Now, I always had this grand design for an epic fantasy tumbling about my head, however, I am not the most patient of people and the writing of something big has always seemed a deed beyond me. I decided to give it a go in any case, starting with something small. I don’t know where to post it and since The Vault has become somewhat of a moot for fan fiction novelists I decided to dump my experimentation here in the hopes of receiving some criticism. So, here it is. I haven’t de come up with a solid name yet so for now I’ll call it “Dogs of War”.

     

    The basic idea is that the story follows a band of crooked soldiers as they make their way though a meaningless war. My main points of inspiration are movies such as “Apocalypse Now” and “Band of Brothers” as well as a long list of fantasy epics (The First Law Trilogy, The Black Company, Blood Song etc). I want to make a dark and grim atmosphere for my dark and grim characters; not in a depressing fashion, but more in a sort of “the world is shit. We know this. We accept this” sort of way. 

     

    I have created a vast history and many hours of world building behind it all. My main problem is my writing, I know its alright, Im not trying to be overly modest. But either a persons writing works or it doesn’t, at least thats how I see it. So please, amateur, experienced and future writers: please litter me with feedback, ideas, anything really. Does the conversation seem lackluster? Are the characters mono dimensional? Too much or too little detail? I know there isn’t much text to read here, but Im working on some more.

     

    With all that out of the way, have a good day (happy smiley) xD 

     

     

    Chapter One

    The Things We Do

     

    Foster was one of those small hick villages typical to northern Keltor; a scattering of lopsided buildings jostled in between two rocky hills with a little a stream running south, from The High Fells, toward the lowland marshes that dominated the country west of The Wilther Wild. 

     

    In winter times Foster would be completely isolated from the outside world as the snows settled in the passes, and even during summer travelers were a rare sight in such a remote region of the north.

     

    It was therefore with no small amount of excitement that the villagers gathered in the common to catch a glimpse of the two mounted soldiers as they made their way steadily toward The Earl's old fort. 

     

    The two men were clad in iron-scale tunics about which they wore studded leather vests and thick woolen cloaks of dark grey. Across their backs were strapped well worn kite shields, painted with Duke Frithbrand's sigil: An arm raised in victory with five silver bands spun about its wrist.

     

    At their hips hung steel swords forged in the Oranian fashion at roughly the length of a man’s arm, measuring from shoulder to fingertip, and both men carried a compound crossbow slung about their shoulder.

     

    Weapons were common sight in Keltor, the country having suffered numerous civil wars and invasions throughout it’s history. As a result most men wore a blade of some sort, but, for the common folk, they were more often used for digging up potatoes than actual fighting. 

     

    The armaments wielded by the two soldiers, however, had obviously been employed in the bloody business for some time. Nicks and scratches dented the hand-guards and the leather scabbards displayed a wide variety of disfigurement and bruising that could only accumulate over many years of hard use.    

     

    Half the village had gathered in a small crowd by the time the two men reached the fort. They watched with the same placid interest that a sheep watches a butcher, as the two soldiers rode through the oaken gate and out of sight. 

     

    The courtyard beyond the cobblestone palisade was dominated by a rickety stable strewn together from uneven timber that held up a thatch roof. As the two men dismounted a stableboy came running to take away their horses.

     

    “No need boy” Said Blane shaking his head “We’ll be leaving shortly”. 

     

    The boy stopped in his tracks, looking up at the warrior; he was a big, lean bastard with an unruly bush of mud-brown beard covering a face sculpted from bark. His eyes were deep set and dark, his nose bent in several different directions at once, serving as a testimony to the battles it had been through over the years. All in all the stable boy judged the man to look every bit the rough sort that village folk should steer well clear of. 

     

    “Alright sir” He said, taking an involuntary step back and shuffling his feet nervously.  

     

    The other soldier stepped forward. Shorter than his companion by a head, slightly built, with a sharp face that somehow reminded the stableboy of both a wolf and a hawk at the same time. He had an evil little smile on his thin lips and clever green eyes locked the boy in place. 

     

    “What you can do” The second soldier was saying in a pretty voice that fit his predatorily face about as well as a bodice fits a pig “Is find me and my companion a bite to eat, best it be something we can take with us when we leave” he tossed a copper shilling which the boy caught out of sheer reflex “Think you can manage?”.

     

    The boy nodded vigorously “Aye” he answered simply, not trusting his voice to utter anything more than single syllables. 

     

    “Good lad” said the second soldier, gesturing for the boy to get to his task. The boy bowed awkwardly and scampered off, clutching the coin.

     

    “Don’t you think The Earl’s going to offer us a meal, Gawen?” Asked Blane as he watched the boy spring up a flight of steps. 

     

    “I most certainty think he will” answered Gawen “But I’m going to want something to chew on once this business is done with and we’re back on the road”. 

     

    Blane nodded approvingly “You’re right. I should’ve damn well asked the lad to bring some spirits whilst he’s at it” he mused, scratching his beard. 

     

    Gawen grunted “And a silken pillow for my sore arse”.  

     

    The two soldiers continued to list things they should have asked the boy to bring, most of them obscene impossibilities, as they made their way toward the squat tower which sprouted from a stony mound in the middle of the fort.

     

    An old man stood guard, leaning heavily on a rusty spear that looked about as worn and feeble as the thin hand clutching it. 

     

    “The Earl’s inside” Said the old guard with a nod, stepping aside to let the two men enter the tower. 

     

    They walked down a narrow corridor and found themselves in a small common room. A large wooden table stood in the centre, with seats for eight men, and a healthy fire warmed the interior from an open fireplace situated against the far wall.

     

    The Earl stood in front of the table, both hands clasped behind his back. “Welcome-” he said with little preamble as he eyed the mean looking soldiers “-To Foster. I do hope the road wasn’t too rough” he gestured for the two soldiers to sit. 

     

    “It was about as rough as one would expect of the season” Said Blane, taking a seat at the table. Gawen sat beside his companion and the Earl of Foster sunk into a chair opposite them. 

     

    He was a short man of broad build and wrinkly of complexion. From the look of his thick hands, one of which bore a delicate golden ring, Blane judged him to be an old miner. He respected that. There was no puffed up belief of self importance to be had from The Earl of Foster. 

     

    “I’m guessing you men must be hungry” He said looking across the table. 

     

    “Aye, a little warm food would be welcome” Stated Blane making himself comfortable on the hard wooden chair.

     

    “I hope a portion of steaming broth wont go down the wrong way” The Earl smiled, smacking his lips. 

     

    “Daresay it won’t” Grunted Gawen.  

     

    The food was brought in by a young serving girl. She placed a deep bowl in front of each man, filled to the brim with a mouthwatering broth of steamed beef, onion and potato. 

     

    “Ah” exclaimed Gawen, ever the adept small talker “Proper food for proper men! Would you believe the last Earl we visited tried to feed us some sort of apple salad”. 

     

    The Earl snorted, already digging into his food with some enthusiasm. 

     

    “Apples don’t belong in salad” Continued Gawen between mouthfuls “And salad doesn’t belong in me”. 

     

    The Earl chuckled “Indeed I agree” he said “Meat is what is needed and lots of it”. 

     

    “Aye, and ale” stated Gawen as the girl returned with three foaming mugs. 

     

    “And that” Agreed The Earl once more “But, aside from my cook’s brilliant meals, what brings you men to Foster?” He asked the question offhandedly but Gawen could tell he was flustered at their sudden appearance.

     

    Blane shifted slightly in his seat and scooped a spoonful of steaming broth into his mouth. 

     

    “Earl, I understand your curiosity but let us eat first and discuss less important matters afterward” he said with his mouth full. 

     

    They ate the food quickly, talking of small things and enjoying the meal. Once their bowls were scraped empty and their mugs dry, the serving girl returned and removed it all, leaving the table bear once more. The Earl leaned forwards, resting both elbows on the table and sighed.

     

    “So, back to my former question. What bring The Duke’s men to the humble village of Foster” He asked.

     

    It was Gawen that answered “Well, The Duke, as you know, has been leading a brave effort against Lord Dalver down at Costerbrey. But, despite his efforts, the southerners seem determined to recapture the Lowlands”.  

     

    “Ahh” exclaimed the Earl “Damn Feltring and all its bloody pox ridden people”. 

     

    “Damn them indeed. But we’re not here to discuss matters of the war. You see, whilst the Duke has been fighting the Feltring Army, it has come to his attention that some of the appointed Earls have been more than a little reluctant with their taxes and levies”. 

     

    The Earl leaned back in his seat at that, trying to hide a grimace of worry. However, both Gawen and Blane noticed the short flash of emotion. They were, after all, bloodhounds for signs of fear. 

     

    “Has he now?” Asked the Earl slowly. 

     

    “He has” Continued Gawen, scratching his nose absentmindedly “And I can tell you, he wasn’t in the least bit happy about it. You must understand that it cannot be tolerated when The Duke’s own Earls wont pay what is due. Especially now, that The Duke himself is fighting so gallantly to defend his people from the ghouls of the south”. 

     

    The Earl nodded, only hesitating slightly.

     

    “Not happy at all” Growled Blane, leaning back in his seat to rest both hands behind his neck. The man had a knack for looking dangerous, Gawen had to admit.  

     

    This time The Earl fidgeted involuntarily “And?” He asked, the tone of his voice rising a little “That brings you to mebecause?…” 

     

    Gawen clapped suddenly, dissolving the uneasy feeling which had been building in the room “Not to worry my friend!” He said “We’re just here to make sure you’re not one of those Earls”. 

     

    “Ahh of course” Sighed The Earl in relief, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table once more “What exactly will that entail I wonder?” He asked, wiping his hands in his lap, trying to shake off the worry he had been feeling.

     

    It was Blane that answered in his coarse rumble of a voice “Not much, we’re just supposed to talk to you and make sure you’re paying taxes like a good king’s man and sending your levies like instructed by The Duke”.

     

    “And-” Gawen interjected “-Now that we’ve done just that I see little reason to dally. In any case; a hot meal and some soft ale was all I really wanted” He got up from his seat and stretched, Blane following and moving to the side, out of The Earls view “And since we’re done with both things we’ll be on our way” Continued Gawen with a wolfish smile. 

     

    The Earl looked perplexed “Was that all The Duke asked of you?” He inquired disbelievingly. 

     

    “Indeed it was” Answered Gawen rubbing his belly contentedly. 

     

    “What, aren’t you supposed to take inventory or something?” Asked The Earl with a slight smear of foreboding.

     

    Gawen chuckled “No, no nothing like that” He said “We’re simple soldiers after all, counting coins and sucharen’t amongst the things we do”.

     

    The Earl got up to lead the soldiers out, keeping his gaze on Gawen as they talked “Well, what are the things you do?” He asked with a chuckle.

     

    Gawen only tilted his head and his wolfish smile broadened into something more than a little monstrous. 

     

    “We set examples” The Earl heard a coarse voice whisper in his ear as he felt the edge of a keen blade swipe across his throat.

     

    The Earl flopped face first to the ground with a rasping wheeze and Gawen turned him on his back with a hard kick to the ribs. The Earl clutched his throat, trying to speak but thick gurgles of blood splattered from his quivering lips and not a single understandable word emerged from his efforts.  

     

    “You thought The Duke would not notice, you dumb fucker?” Hissed Blane, wiping his dagger clean “You thought little Foster was too remote a location for his influence and attention?” He spat on the floor.

     

    Gawen shook his head and tisked as he watched The Earl of Foster choke to death on his own blood.

     

    “He did notice, and now you will serve as a reminder for the other Earls-” Blane spat the word  “-to be nice, obedient little shits and do as they are damn well told”.

     

     

    With that Blane trod over the Earl, who had begun to shake from blood-loss, and left the room the way he had entered. Gawen stayed a moment longer, bending down to slide the delicate golden ring from the dying man's finger.

     

     

     

    “If you don’t mind” He bowed slightly and turned to follow his companion out the room. 

     

     

     

    *Edit: A little taste of chapter 2*

     

     

    Chapter Two

     

    Fresh Meat

     

     

    Saddler was walking through the not so neat ranks of tents that made-up the army camp, with a confident stride. He was whistling to himself as he counted coins from a fat leather purse. Yesterday had, all in all, been a remarkably profitable venture for the seasoned soldier. 

     

     

    Saddler loved new recruits, or, ‘fresh meat’ as the lads had taken to calling them, with a passion. Most of them were young and eager to experience the soldiering life first hand. Better still, most all of them had terrible misconceptions about what that life entailed. Anyone who had been in The Duke’s service for more than a span knew not to play cards with Saddler. Alas, the newcomers could not have obtained such lifesaving information in advance, so before they had the chance to get any wiser Saddler had robbed them blind. 

     

     

    It was as he was making his way toward the latrine pits to indulge in his morning ablutions, that he spotted the figures of two men he knew from many years serving together under Frithbrand’s banner. 

     

     

    “Gawen! Blane!” He shouted, waving his arms to catch their attention “You two soggy bastards back from up north already?”.  

     

     

    The two men turned from the stall to which they were fastening their horses and made their way toward him. 

     

     

    “Saddler you penny-whoring shit!” Shouted Gawen as he approached “What sort of good for nothing have you been up to now?” He asked eying the purse in Saddler’s hand. 

     

     

    “Ahhh, you know” Said Saddler with a shrug “Fresh meat equals fresh harvest, as they say. Same old, same old”. 

     

     

    Gawen laughed and Blane chuckled - which was about as much mirth anyone was likely to produce from the grim soldier.  

     

     

    “What about you two?” Asked Saddler “Last I heard you were heading up north to settle some political matter for our beloved Duke”. 

     

     

    “Aye” Answered Blane “We were politicking alright. Went to pay The Earl of Foster a little visit. Had a bite to eat and chit-chatted a little, all very civilized”. 

     

     

    “Civilized” Snorted Gawen “It was civilized alright, until you stuck a knife in our gracious host’s neck” He flashed his trademark smile at Blane. 

     

     

    “What!?” Exclaimed Saddler in false surprise “Blane resorting to violence, I would have never thought such a thing possible”.

     

     

    Blane rolled his eyes “All the Duke’s orders” he said as if that explained everything, which, for the three men present, it did.   

     

     

    “In any case” Said Saddler changing the subject “Have you been appointed any lackeys yet?” He asked, referring to the two or three new recruits each of the veteran soldiers would have take care of for a moon or two. 

     

     

    Blane shook his head and grunted disapprovingly. Unlike Saddler, he had never mastered the talent for taking advantage of the naive young levies. What was more, he hated having to waste his time teaching them the finer points of soldiering life.

     

     

    “Not yet” Answered Gawen “We only just returned from Foster. We were about to go make our report to Frithbrand”.  

     

     

    “Ahh” Sighed Saddler “Our beloved Duke. I fear I am in no position to deny him your considerably shitty company. But allow me to follow you there, I need my morning dump and the shit pits are past command in any case”. 

     

     

    Gawen gave a mock bow “Lead the way”.

     

     

    The three soldiers strolled from the stables toward the larger tents erected at the center of the camp. They talked amongst themselves as they walked. Stopping every now and then to shake hands and exchange words with old comrades and brothers at arms. When they finally did reach the Duke’s tent Saddler was damn well ready to explode.

     

     

    “It’s peeping” He exclaimed “I’ll have to leave you two here or I’m going to shit myself”. 

     

     

    Gawen laughed “I’d pay a pretty price to watch that happen”.

     

     

    “I’m sure you would” Answered Saddler with a chuckle “But you’d regret it once the stink hits you. I swear, no man alive has ever suffered more gruesomely than the man who inhales the noxious nature of my guts”.

     

     

    Blane raised his eyebrows, having seen some pretty gruesome suffering in his time, having inflicted a fair deal himself “I believe you” He stated flatly. “Besides, if I have to suffer one more fancy word from you, my ears’ll bleed”.   

     

    *More to follow*

     

     

Comments

8 Comments   |   A-Pocky-Hah! likes this.
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  September 15, 2018
    Okay, so I've taken a good read, and it's not bad. I'm not touching on the technical stuff like grammar, pronunciations, spelling and all that since I would be here for a long time if I do it. What I did frequently notice though is that the lack of a full...  more
    • BlueDremora
      BlueDremora
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      A-Pocky-Hah!
      Okay, so I've taken a good read, and it's not bad. I'm not touching on the technical stuff like grammar, pronunciations, spelling and all that since I would be here for a long time if I do it. What I did frequently notice though is that the lack of a full...  more
        ·  September 16, 2018
      Grammar is a pain for me and I’ll definitely have to clean that up before it becomes to embarrassing.

      Yes, the two men serve the Duke. They kill the Earl to set an example in order to prevent unrest within Keltorian politics (Keltor is th...  more
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 14, 2018
    Hi, the Long-Chapper here. I have to ask, is this fiction based on either Elder Scrolls or Fallout? 
    • BlueDremora
      BlueDremora
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      The Long-Chapper
      Hi, the Long-Chapper here. I have to ask, is this fiction based on either Elder Scrolls or Fallout? 
        ·  September 15, 2018
      Hey Liss, it's neither. It not fan fiction, its based on my "own" world xD
      • The Long-Chapper
        The Long-Chapper
        BlueDremora
        BlueDremora
        BlueDremora
        Hey Liss, it's neither. It not fan fiction, its based on my "own" world xD
          ·  September 15, 2018
        Exactly, and we're a ES and Fallout website. 
        • BlueDremora
          BlueDremora
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          The Long-Chapper
          Exactly, and we're a ES and Fallout website. 
            ·  September 16, 2018
          Hmmm, I've always seen The Vault as more of a creative forum based upon Fallout and TES, but not confined to them. If it poses some sort of a problem I can remove it, as I wrote in the intro I merely put it here for some opinions…
  • ilanisilver
    ilanisilver   ·  September 14, 2018
    I think so far, so good. The introduction hooked me in, and I felt the excitement the villagers felt when they saw the visitors. One thing I’m wondering, though, is you described it first as no small amount of excitement, and then keyed it way down to pla...  more
    • BlueDremora
      BlueDremora
      ilanisilver
      ilanisilver
      ilanisilver
      I think so far, so good. The introduction hooked me in, and I felt the excitement the villagers felt when they saw the visitors. One thing I’m wondering, though, is you described it first as no small amount of excitement, and then keyed it way down to pla...  more
        ·  September 15, 2018
      Hmm good points. At first I actually called the Earl a Commissioner, but that didnt sound very medival-ish so I changed it. Mabye I should call him overseer or landlord. He's more sort of a mayor for a village town than anything.

      And as far...  more